


First Steps

by Anndy



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Minor mentions of crusade-related death cultural insensitivity and religious intolerance, No pairings unless you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anndy/pseuds/Anndy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin glared at Guy. Girls were boring, and babies were boring <em>and</em> messy, and Baby Marian was a girl <em>and</em> a baby, and this <em>so</em> wasn’t how he had wanted to spend Christmas Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Steps

**Author's Note:**

> Written for last year's fic exchange at the RH message board, for the prompt: _"Christmas!fic. Robin, Marian, and Guy have to spend Christmas together in -insert location of choice-. (Doesn't have to be crack!fic, but why not?)"_
> 
> Spoilers for 3x10, but takes place pre-series.
> 
> For the record, Malcolm and Ghislaine are not in a relationship yet during this fic, but the Gisbornes will soon be getting some bad news from the Holy Land, and the rest is television history.

“...and tomorrow Father will take me to see the mystery play!” Robin enthused. He was practically bouncing in his saddle. “I’ve heard their Herod is really horrid this year, eight feet tall and very hairy, and he will be beheading people with a giant sword as long as he is tall!”  
  
“How interesting.” Guy’s voice betrayed a complete lack of enthusiasm for Robin’s projected Christmas activities, which he had been subjected to for the last mile.  
  
“I _know_ you don’t mean that. Just come out and say it, you hate plays. You hate everything that’s fun. Might as well admit you hate Christmas as well.”  
  
“I don’t hate Christmas. But mystery plays are frivolous and childish. The perfect entertainment for _you_ , Locksley, but I-”  
  
“Pft. And you’re too old to be caught doing something childish, is that it?” His neighbor, Robin felt, took himself altogether too seriously, for someone who didn’t shave yet.  
  
Guy puffed himself up. “Exactly. I’m the man of the house while Father is away at war, and that means-”  
  
“ _De quoi vous parlez?_ ” Isabella chimed in from atop her pony.  
  
Guy turned to fix her with a disdainful look. “ _Si tu t’appliquais plus à tes leçons d’anglais, tu le saurais._ ”  
  
“ _Maman, Guy est méchant avec moi!_ ”  
  
Lady Gisborne shared a look with Malcolm of Locksley, the kind of long-suffering look common to all parents traveling any distance with young children. “Your brother iz right, Isabella. And don’t speak French when we are in mixed company.” They went back to chatting idly about the nobles expected to show up at the sheriff’s annual Christmas charity feast, hoping beyond hope that would be the last interruption.  
  
“I really hope Sir Edward and Lady Kate like my gift to them!”  
  
“Don’t interrupt the grown-ups! Can’t you see they’re having a serious discussion?”  
  
Better to get this over with quick. “Now, Guy, let him talk. What are you bringing our sheriff, young Robin?”  
  
Robin rummaged in his saddlebag. “A nice, fat woodcock! I shot it myself this morning! See?”  
  
“Don’t wave that dead bird in my mother’s face!”  
  
“Robin, don’t let go of your reins or you will _walk_ to Nottingham!”  
  
“Yes, Father. Sorry, Father.”  
  
Ghislaine contemplated the bird. The arrow that killed the poor thing had almost cut it in half. With the way Robin was waving it around, it was doubtful whether the gift would arrive in Nottingham still in one piece. “A most magnificent catch that speaks as much of the hunter’s skill as of his regard to the intended recipients. I am sure they will appreciate it,” she finally declared.  
  
Robin beamed. Guy sneered. “The kill could have been cleaner. It looks like it’s been mauled by a wolf. You can’t possibly think of giving that thing to the sheriff.”  
  
“So what if it’s a little bit messy? It’s the thought that counts anyway. Still... I could probably have done a lot better with the Saracen bow, don’t you think so, Father?”  
  
“Was that your attempt at subtlety? ‘Cause if it was, I’m sorry to say it was quite pitiful.”  
  
“Shut up, Guy. You’re just jealous because you can’t hit the broad side of the barn with _any_ kind of bow.”  
  
“Why, you little- I can too!”  
  
“Nuh-huh. Can not.”  
  
“Can too!”  
  
“Can not!”  
  
“Can too!”  
  
The argument ended with an eagerly accepted challenge to a shooting match, to be held as soon as was convenient. Then the snow-covered woods became silent again, to the parents’ relief - for the two minutes it took Robin to grow restless again. “Father, may I gallop ahead?”  
  
“Absolutely not! When traveling with a party, it is rude to ride ahead of the others. It implies you don’t like their company.”  
  
“We-ell...”  
  
“Do _not_ finish that thought.”  
  
“Yes, Father.”  
  
“ _Qu’est-ce qu’il a dit?_ ”  
  
“That you’re nosy and stupid.”  
  
“I understand zat! Zat iz not what ‘ee said at all. Take it back!”  
  
“Make me!”  
  
“ _Maman!_ ”  
  
It was a long five miles to Nottingham.  
  
***  
  
“This is a most thoughtful gift, Robin of Locksley,” Sir Edward said, trying to keep a straight face. “Joseph, take this bird down to the kitchens, tell the cook to have it prepared. I want it served at the head table tonight.” Robin beamed triumphantly.  
  
Having greeted his guests and accepted their gifts, the sheriff quickly excused himself to oversee the frenzied preparations for the evening’s feast, and left a harried-looking servant to show them to their quarters in the east wing.  
  
“Ha! You see, he liked it! He didn’t care that the kill was a tiny bit messy.”  
  
Guy rolled his eyes. “That’s because the sheriff knows a little bit of the subtle art of diplomacy. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”  
  
“I have too! It’s when you tell your enemies what you want, and either they give it to you or you make war on them until they do!”  
  
“ _Heureux sont les simples d’esprit_ ,” Guy muttered under his breath.  
  
“Yoo spoke French! I’m telling Mozer!”  
  
“Lady Ghislaine, would you like to go into town with me? The children can stay here and play.”  
  
“What a lovely idea! Let’s take a walk!” Ghislaine’s smile was filled with gratitude. It was so nice to be on the same page with someone. _Yes, a walk. A very long walk, far from them. Before we murder our own flesh and blood._  
  
***  
  
The children milled uncertainly in the corridor, with hours to kill and nothing to do.  
  
“What should we do?” Robin asked.  
  
“I ‘ave promeezed to meet Cecily de Crécy, to show ‘er my noo dress,” Isabella informed him primly.  
  
That didn’t sound fun at all. Robin often wondered how girls could stand to be so boring. He turned to Guy hopefully. “What do you say we sneak into the armory and borrow some bows? We could have that contest right now!”  
  
“Right now is hardly the time or place to – oh hello, Lady Knighton!”  
  
Robin looked up to see the sheriff’s wife rounding a corner toward them in a flurry of skirts. “Oh, you’ve arrived already? We weren’t expecting you until later this afternoon! Have you settled in? Do you need anything?”  
  
Under Robin’s incredulous gaze, Guy seemed to morph into a different person entirely. “Yes muh-my lady, I mean no, we’re fine, everything is fine!” He stammered, grinning idiotically. “May I say, it is such a pleasure to be in your company again!” He made a production of kissing her hand.  
  
Robin couldn’t believe his eyes. “What got into you? Are you _blushing_?”  
  
“Ee ‘az ze _béguin_ for ‘er,” Isabella said with a hint of scorn.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Isabella shrugged. If Robin didn’t understand teenage hormones, it was not her duty to enlighten him.  
  
“It’s nice to see you too, Guy. Edward and I don’t see your family in Nottingham often enough.”  
  
“Ah, we are very busy, you know, busy running the estate – you must be very busy too organizing everything – I mean... can we-”  
  
Some unerring instinct told Isabella the end of that sentence would be _“help you with anything?”_ So she took drastic measures. “I think I can see Cecily across ze yard!” she interrupted quickly, peering through the corridor window. “I ‘ave to go and greet ‘er! Goodbye, my lady!” She stormed off before her meddlesome big brother could stop her.  
  
Guy rubbed his temple tiredly. It was astonishing, really, how dramatically his sister’s understanding of spoken English seemed to fluctuate, always depending on what would most irritate him. She had escaped him, but – his smile grew slightly predatory - all was not lost. Taken off guard by Isabella’s speedy departure, Robin was startled when Guy’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “What I meant to say is, Robin and I would be honored to be of assistance to you. We have nothing to do, and I’m sure you could use a hand today. Just tell us what you need.”  
  
***  
  
Which was how the two boys found themselves sitting in Lady Knighton’s solar, making garlands of holly and ivy. Well, the boys worked; the lady had to take frequent interruptions to busy herself with her baby. In the past hour, Robin had learned more than he ever wanted to know about weaning, the ideal diet, sleep patterns, language acquisition, teething, and the digestive process. _Especially_ the digestive process. Currently, Lady Knighton and Baby Marian were engaged in something that looked a lot like wrestling and came with unpleasant smells. Robin tried not to pay close attention. Girls were boring, and babies were boring _and_ messy, and Baby Marian was a girl _and_ a baby, and this _so_ wasn’t how he had wanted to spend Christmas Day.  
  
“You’re going to pay for this,” he told Guy in a whisper.  
  
“Oh, shut up. It won’t kill you to make yourself useful for once!” But Guy’s enthusiasm too had deflated somewhat after an hour of arranging plants and tying ribbons and listening to an enthusiastic young mother go on about her bundle of joy.  
  
“Thank you again for helping me out,” Lady Knighton said as she rejoined them at the table after disposing of the stuff-Robin-had-been-studiously-ignoring. “These decorations need to go up today, and Marian is such a handful – her nurse is down with a cold, and obviously she can’t be left alone, but it’s hard to get any work done when the baby is clamoring for attention.”  
  
“We understand; we’re glad to be of help, aren’t we, Robin? See, my lady, we’re almost done.” Robin rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why Guy’s personality did a 180° when Lady Knighton so much as looked at him, but he didn’t like it.  
  
“Already?” She glanced down at the pile. They were indeed working on the last batch. They would be done in a matter of minutes. “Fantastic! You both deserve a reward, I think.” Robin perked up at that. Lady Knighton went in search of a servant to take the finished garlands to the small army decorating the great hall, and to fetch refreshments for her young helpers. Soon Robin was munching contentedly on a mince pie and sipping cider beside a small fire. He felt this afternoon hadn’t been a total waste after all.  
  
“Don’t stuff your face, you won’t have any appetite at the feast!” That was Guy for you, always the spoilsport.  
  
Robin snorted. “As if!”  
  
“Oh sorry, I forgot you were a bottomless pit.”  
  
Robin didn’t bother to answer; his mind was now firmly on the evening’s entertainment. “Lady Knighton, d’you know where I’ll be seated?”  
  
“You’ll both be at a table on the dais, dear, with the other noble children.”  
  
Guy wilted visibly at being lumped in with “the children”, but for Robin this was excellent news. “Will we have a good view of the singers and the jugglers?”  
  
“The best view. No one to get in your way.”  
  
“That’s good, because last year-”  
  
“Don’t criticize your hostess’ seating arrangements!”  
  
“Shut up, you weren’t even there! I couldn’t see any of the jugglers because-”  
  
“You’re not supposed to attend a feast for the entertainment provided! That’s not the point!”  
  
That successfully deflected Robin’s thoughts. “Oh right, that reminds me! The food! Lady Knighton, will we be having goose at the feast?”  
  
“Of course!”  
  
“And chicken?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And duck?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And beef?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And pork?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And mutton?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And boar?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And heron?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And quail?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And hare?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And aurochs?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And pastries?”  
  
“Lots of pastries, savory and sweet.”  
  
“I can hardly wait! I was getting so tired of fish!”  
  
“We can tell, Locksley,” Guy snorted.  
  
“There will be thirty different courses, none of them fish,” she assured them.  
  
“Yay! You always throw the best feasts, Lady Knighton! And tomorrow I’m going to the mystery play! Will you be there too?”  
  
“Not _that_ again!”  
  
“Ah, no. Tomorrow I shall be visiting the poor with leftovers from the feast.”  
  
“I thought tonight’s feast _was_ for the poor?”  
  
“Yes, but the great hall only seats three hundred, and some will be too sick to attend, so tomorrow I will visit some people in their homes with food and presents.”  
  
Robin nodded sagely. Every year, Father invited all the villagers to eat with them at the Manor, because Christmas was a time for sharing and good lords rewarded their servants for the year’s hard work. Robin and Father would be sharing their dinner with two different families every day until Twelfth Night, except today because they would be feasting with the sheriff and the poor of Nottingham Town and some boring nobles, but there would also be a feast tonight at Locksley for _their_ poor, so it all worked out. Robin had trawled the nearby woods for game all week to provide for this feast. He had left their steward with detailed instructions regarding how this bounty was to be distributed. The choicest bits were for the poorest families - he thought Father would approve of that. He had earmarked a pheasant for the miller as well, who wasn’t all that poor but whose son Robin liked to play with. He had a hare for Dan Scarlett as well, as thanks for the bow he made special for Robin, not as good as Father’s Saracen bow of course, but still a very neat, very serviceable bow, and he had shot a woodcock with it this morning, did Lady Knighton like woodcock, because it was his gift for her and the sheriff, and the sheriff had said he would eat it at the feast, was that all right? Lady Knighton nodded and made encouraging noises at the right intervals and praised Robin’s arrangements. Guy, who had heard it all before in excruciating detail, yawned surreptitiously. “Shame about missing the play, though, I hear it’s really good!”  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ve seen it already. It really is good,” she reassured him. “Very well put together and great effects, very impressive. The best play I’ve seen in years.”  
  
“Is Herod very scary?”  
  
“Tremendously. I’m sure you’ll both enjoy it.”  
  
Robin knew an opportunity when he saw one. “Oh, Guy’s not going!”  
  
“Robin!”  
  
“Why ever not?”  
  
“ _Robin!_ Don’t you _dare_!”  
  
“He says-”  
  
“I- that is- I wasn’t planning to, but, er- my sister is dying to go, so I’ll chaperone her.” Guy wondered how much it would cost him to bribe Isabella into claiming going was her idea, and winced. _A lot_. He took a swig of his drink. Maybe he could drown his sorrows in cider.  
  
“Good. It would really be a shame to miss your first English mystery play. You’ll be able to tell me if they’re very different from those in France.”  
  
Guy decided he didn’t need to look for solace at the bottom of a glass after all, as long as Lady Knighton looked at him with that dazzling smile. For that smile he would sit through anything. He would - God help him - even provide his sister with blackmail material. All right, _more_ blackmail material. “I’ll be sure to, my lady!”  
  
“M’lady, the baby is trying to escape!”  
  
Baby Marian, who had been left to crawl around on the rug, was peering through the open doorway into the corridor, as if contemplating whether she would find someone to pay attention to her there.  
  
“Goodness! Well spotted, Robin!” She hurried to retrieve her wayward daughter. “You see, it’s just as I was saying: you can’t take your eyes off her, or else!”  
  
“I’m sure she’ll settle down soon. She takes after you in beauty, I can’t imagine she hasn’t inherited your disposition as well.”  
  
Robin tried not to make gagging noises. He couldn’t fathom why Guy would suck up so shamelessly. That bit about the baby’s character was a blatant lie, and beauty? Baby Marian looked just like any old baby, round-faced, flat-nosed... although she did have her mother’s eyes, and her hair looked kind of silky...  
  
“I hope you are right,” Lady Knighton sighed. “And meanwhile, she keeps me from growing complacent. Would you like to hold her?”  
  
Guy’s smile grew a little tighter, but he held out his arms. “Please.”  
  
Baby Marian didn’t like the change at all. She immediately started squirming and wriggling to get away, until she got herself turned around in Guy’s lap and came face-to-face with his nose. _That_ she liked.  
  
“Oomph! Her grip is stronger than I expected!”  
  
“Consider yourself lucky you’re too young for a moustache.”  
  
Guy could only grunt in reply. He was suddenly very busy keeping Baby Marian from pulling his hair.  
  
“It looks like she’s trying to climb on top of his head,” Robin commented, oddly fascinated. “Look, is she standing up?”  
  
“She is,” confirmed Lady Knighton. “She’s been able to do that for a while. We expect she’ll take her first steps any day now.”  
  
“Really? Can I hold her too? It looks fun.”  
  
Guy remembered at the last second to be diplomatic, and managed to turn his snort into a cough while Lady Knighton came to his rescue and handed the baby to Robin. She didn’t like that much either, but her mother kept stroking her back, and eventually she calmed down. Robin lifted a hand and carefully petted the baby’s head. Her hair felt as silky as it looked. Baby Marian seemed to appreciate his advances, and Robin, emboldened, leaned to look at her closer until-  
  
“Whoa!”  
  
“She loves headbutting people too,” Lady Knighton explained amid Baby Marian’s giggles. “Sorry, I should have warned you – but it means she likes you.”  
  
In Robin’s experience, headbutts were fighting moves, not displays of affection. But there had been very little force behind it, and he was more startled than hurt. He brought his forehead level with Baby Marian’s again experimentally, and was rewarded when the girl gleefully knocked their heads together again. Both dissolved into peals of laughter.  
  
Guy was wondering if he should bring up the potential for brain damage when a breathless servant practically fell through the door. “My Lady, the singers arrived and they want to be paid in advance.”  
  
A heavy sigh. “Edward?”  
  
“Sir Edward is seeing to a problem in the stables. The Suttons want their horses fed with a special fodder that-”  
  
“Never mind. Go back to your duties please, I’ll deal with this.” She turned to the boys. “I’m really sorry to impose on you like this, but could you watch Marian for me while I sort out the singers?”  
  
Robin was still busy scrambling his and Baby Marian’s brains. If he had looked up, he would have seen Guy making frantic motions of denial. As it was, he cheerfully declared, “Don’t worry my lady, it’ll be no trouble at all! We have the hang of it now, don’t we, Guy?”  
  
Guy, who had distant but vivid memories of babysitting his sister as a baby, tried to protest, but Lady Knighton was already halfway out the door as she thanked them. And then they were alone.  
  
“You had to open your big mouth! Why did you volunteer us to watch a baby for God knows how long!”  
  
“You’re one to talk, you’re the one who offered our help in the first place. And it’s not like we have to _do_ anything, just sit here and eat mince pies. The baby’s too small to be trouble.”  
  
Guy shook his head grimly. “You only say that because you’ve never spent any time around babies. Well, I suppose you’ll learn.”  
  
***  
  
And learn he did. At first Baby Marian had been content to crawl around the rug, playing with the toys strewn there. But over the course of an hour, the boys had to stop her from escaping into the corridor five times, rescue three toys thrown into the hearth, keep her twice from yanking the tablecloth and everything on it off the table, and scramble to put everything back on the table after she succeeded - fortunately without breaking anything or hurting herself. Robin took the opportunity to wolf down the last mince pie. Guy was peering under the furniture for stray apples when he straightened with a cry and ran to keep the baby from crawling into the fire. Robin was beginning to see either babies were nowhere near as boring as he had been led to believe, or Marian was not like most babies.  
  
Presently, the boys were sprawled on the floor, stacking wooden blocks. Baby Marian seemed to think the point of building blocks was to knock them over as soon as possible, but at least she wasn’t interested in the fire anymore. “You were right,” Robin admitted grudgingly. “It’s a wonder anyone can keep up with her.”  
  
Guy was feeling slightly more mellow now that they’d gone five minutes without a crisis. Well, Baby Marian used any lull between two towers to try to stand up using Guy’s ears as handles, but that could be dealt with by some tickles. “And think, she’s only crawling. As soon as she learns to walk, Lady Knighton will need to hire a second nanny. Unless our little hellion here starts taking after her in more than looks.”  
  
“Why’d you like her so much, anyway? Lady Knighton, I mean.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I? She’s an amazing woman, beautiful, witty, generous and kind. She has a – a nobility of soul, I suppose. A man could do a lot worse. Don’t you think so?”  
  
“D’you want to marry her? ‘Cause you can’t, you know.”  
  
“I know. She only sees me as a boy.”  
  
“That, and she already has a husband. But maybe she’ll let you marry Baby Marian? You seemed to think she’s just as beautiful and kind and perfect.”  
  
“Don’t be a smartass.” Actually, Guy had idly contemplated the thought. But by the time Marian would be anything close to marriageable age, he would be twenty-six. _Twenty-six_. There was _no way_ he could stand to wait that long, no matter how perfect the woman. “I don’t want to marry Lady Knighton, just. Someone like her. Someday. You know?”  
  
“ _I_ don’t want to marry anyone. All girls are boring.”  
  
“You’ll be singing a different tune in a couple of years.” He was smiling, but it wasn’t a mean smile.  
  
_Someone like Lady Knighton. Someday._ Robin pondered this as he stacked building blocks. The lady was always nice to him – and not just to him – and took him seriously and never talked down to him just because he was a kid. And she was beautiful, he supposed, with pretty chestnut curls and blue eyes, but...  
  
“Mother was prettier,” he mumbled.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“My mother was prettier. She was the most beautiful woman in all the world.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Robin sat up. His good mood was gone. The tower he was stacking toppled over, and the baby started banging two blocks together to demand a new one. Robin wasn’t paying attention. He felt like he had been slapped. When his mother had died three years ago, he had sworn he would never forget her. And he hadn’t, at first. He thought about her all the time, visited her grave every day, brought her flowers, told her about all the village gossip, the games he played, his studies, all his joys and hurts. But over time, the need had grown less pressing, his visits to the grave less frequent, and now, Robin realized guiltily, he hadn’t thought about her in weeks. _She watches me from Heaven always. What must she think of me? She must think I care only about Christmas and gifts and food, and that I have forgotten her._  
  
He was snapped out of his guilt when Baby Marian smacked him on the nose with a wooden cube. “Ta!”  
  
“Careful, Locksley,” Guy snickered. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what Robin’s sudden silence meant. But despite having spent way more time than he liked with the other boy this past year, in this respect they were no better than strangers. And he had never been good at comforting people, anyway. So he deflected. “You need to keep your mind on the job, or else this baby-here-that’s-no-trouble-at-all will get the better of you.”  
  
“Ta! Ta!”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m concentrating.” They went back to building towers, and Baby Marian went back to gleefully destroying them, and Robin observed Guy from the corner of his eyes. There would never be a better time for asking this, but how to phrase the question? “Hey, Guy. Can I ask - have you ever done something like - forget to visit someone because, I dunno, you were playing in the creek with the miller’s boy?” Not that Robin could imagine Guy lowering himself to play with peasant children.  
  
“Buuuh,” said Baby Marian.  
  
“Definitely not,” said Guy. “While my father is away, I can’t afford any frivolities.”  
  
“Always with your father. How do you do it? How come you’re always so grown-up and responsible all the time? Don’t you ever - forget?”  
  
In truth, Guy’s level of maturity was prone to sudden drops, much to his embarrassment, _especially_ in Robin’s presence, but he wasn’t about to point it out if the other boy hadn’t noticed.  
  
“That my father is away on the other side of the world waging war on bloodthirsty savages and he could die any time? Oh yeah, sometimes I have trouble remembering he’s in the Holy Land in mortal danger, not on the longest milk run ever.”  
  
Robin winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. But Sir Roger will be fine, right? You’re always going on about what a great knight he is.”  
  
“He is! But- you don’t understand. Strength and skill only mean so much. Anything can happen in battle. The Turks have good fighters too. All it would take is one lucky hit. And even minor wounds can be dangerous, without proper...” Guy had been around his mother enough to know that sometimes even good, well-trained medics failed, and it was by no means a guarantee that there would be any at hand... Guy trusted his father’s skill in battle, but there were so many ways for a man to die.  
  
Robin had never thought of it like that. Truth be told, he had been a little jealous of Guy: he hadn’t _really_ wanted Father to leave him to go to war, oh no, but had liked the idea of Father fighting the heathens to keep Jerusalem safe, returning home covered in glory having accomplished many mighty deeds, and bringing lots and lots of exotic presents, like a parrot, or perhaps even a monkey... But suddenly he was very glad Father hadn’t gone after all. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”  
  
Guy sighed. “It’s all right. I don’t go around fretting about it all day from dawn till dusk or anything. There’s a lot to be done around the estate. It’s easy to get lost in the work.”  
  
Robin nodded. “But that’s fine, right? Getting caught up in daily life? It doesn’t mean I- _you_ don’t care.”  
  
“Agaga,” Baby Marian agreed.  
  
“No, it doesn’t. Actually I - I try not to think about Father too much.”  
  
“Really? That’s not the impression I got.”  
  
“Because that’s the expected thing. But - promise you’re not telling this to anyone!”  
  
“Promise.”  
  
“Aga!”  
  
“I don’t like to think about it too much because then,” Guy’s voice dropped low, “I remember Father could be already dead. That’s the worst part. Mother says we should have faith in him and pray every day so he’ll be safe. But what good does that do? We could be praying for a dead man. He might be dead already, and we wouldn’t hear of it for months! There’s no way to know. So I try not to think about it, and go on with my life. It’s all I can do anyway.”  
  
“Ta! Ta! Tatatatatatata!”  
  
“All right, we’re stacking, we’re stacking!”  
  
“Look at that. Here I am pouring out my soul, and all she cares about is indulging her taste for wanton destruction.  
  
Self-centered ingrate.” But Guy was smiling faintly.  
  
“It’s good though, that she doesn’t understand what we’re talking about,” said Robin. “She shouldn’t have to.” _No one should._  
  
“She won’t. Her father is a powerful man, her mother is the kindest, most beautiful woman in the world. She has all the toys she could ever want, and when she grows up, she’ll have great beauty, wealth, dresses and jewels and more suitors than she’ll know what to do with, and her life will be perfect, just you see.”  
  
Robin wasn’t so sure about the suitors bit, but he could get behind the rest. “Yeah. Lady Knighton’s never gonna die and Sir Edward’s never gonna leave her and no one will ever make her cry.”  
  
Guy had to laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement. “Are we her fairy godmothers now? Better be careful not to make her life too perfect then, or she’ll end up being an insufferable little snot. Perhaps a few pimples when puberty hits, just so things won’t be too out of balance. What d’you think?”  
  
“Pimples are hardly the end of the world!”  
  
“Some girls seem to think they are. Boy, I could tell you stories. My cousin Jehanne-”  
  
“Why are you wishing them on Baby Marian then? Isn’t that really mean?”  
  
“It’s not as if she’ll really get them just because I said. That’s not how it works.”  
  
“You better hope so. If she ever does get pimples, I’m telling her it was your fault and she’ll hate you forever, so there!”  
  
“If she ever _does_ get pimples, I’ll cajole Mother into making her secret special cream for her, and she’ll be so grateful she’ll forgive me instantly. But I’m telling you, it won’t - where is she anyway?”  
  
They looked around frantically. They had only taken their eyes off her for a second...  
  
Robin was the first to spot her behind them. “Look, she’s standing up all on her own!”  
  
It was true. Baby Marian had crawled to a nearby chair, used it to haul herself to her feet, and was now standing uncertainly, having let go of the seat.  
  
Guy felt excitement grip him. “Looks like she might try to take her first steps!”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Quick, back away!”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
Guy scooted back. “So she’ll- Come, Marian! Come to me!” He opened his arms and looked around frantically for something to entice her. He grabbed a rag doll off the rug and waved it at the hesitating baby. “Come get your doll!”  
  
Robin got the idea. He positioned himself so that he, Guy and the baby formed the points of an equilateral triangle. He found a small wooden horse and shook it vigorously to get the baby’s attention. “Come here, Marian! –Stop waving that doll, you’re distracting her! I want to do it!”  
  
“Don’t be a brat!”  
  
Marian tried to take a step forward, then seemed to think better of it. She didn’t quite know which toy she wanted more right now. Her pretty, soft dolly? Her brightly painted horsie? Choosing one was too much work. She wanted them both, and she knew the way to get them. She plopped down on her ass and let out an almighty wail.  
  
“Great, now you’ve made her cry!”  
  
“How is this my fault? You’re the one who-”  
  
“Is everything all right?” Both boys looked up guiltily; Lady Knighton had returned.  
  
“Yes, my lady, everything is fine. She just-”  
  
“We didn’t do anything wrong!”  
  
Lady Knighton smiled indulgently as she picked up her daughter. Marian quieted down slightly. “I’m sure you didn’t. She’s just fussy because it’s her bedtime.”  
  
“She almost learned to walk, but Guy ruined it!”  
  
“I’m sure he didn’t do anything irreparable. It’s not something that happens instantly, you know, learning to walk. There are always many false starts and falls. Marian’s been hesitating to try for a couple of weeks now. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll take the plunge sooner or later – sooner, I’m inclined to think.”  
  
“I suppose so. I just thought it would be really cool if she did it now.”  
  
“My, Locksley, soon you’ll find babies more interesting than bows and arrows.”  
  
“Shut up, Guy!”  
  
“Anyway, thank you for watching her. You can go prepare yourselves for the feast, now. I’ll just put her to bed and freshen up myself.”  
  
“Right, my lady. It was no problem at all!”  
  
Guy thought that was a slight exaggeration, but didn’t think it prudent to mention the incident with the fire, or- anything, really. Not if he wanted to stay in the lady’s good graces.  
  
“Thank you again, both of you. Come on”, she said to her baby, “time to say goodnight.” She held the little girl out to the boys; they dutifully kissed her on the cheek (Robin tried not to make a face). “Say goodbye to the boys, Marian!” After a moment’s reflection, Baby Marian shook her right arm up and down; she knew this was the customary thanks to any minder-giant, and these two had been very good at keeping her entertained. She made sure to make the shake extra-hard, trying to convey her satisfaction with their services. Maybe they would get the hint and come again soon. Then she allowed her mother to whisk her off to her familiar before-bed ritual. The day’s fun had left her quite exhausted.  
  
***  
  
“Ah, Robin, there you are. Where were you – no matter. Wash your face and change your tunic. Ah. Listen, son. I want you to sit next to the Gisborne children at the feast. I had a very interesting talk with lady Ghislaine. It’s quite appalling what some people- well, I don’t want to bore you with politics, but right now it’s important to show the world that we, as the Earl of Locksley and his heir, accept the Gisbornes’ presence here in our midst. That we’re on friendly terms. I’m sorry, I know you don’t like them, but you need to at least pretend to tolerate them in public.”  
  
Robin grimaced. But... He could make an effort, at least. “It’s all right. I’ll manage. Well, I don’t know about Isabella, but I think I can get along with Guy all right, when I try. He’s not as snotty as the de Crécys, and he’s more fun than Matthew Brackenbury. And I like lady Ghislaine. And Sir Roger seemed all right too. I don’t mind doing something to help them out.”  
  
“Good. I’m glad to hear that. You might be spending more time with them in the future anyway. I was thinking of asking lady Ghislaine to teach you French. It would send a strong message to – certain parties, and it will definitely be useful if you ever find yourself at court-”  
  
“Father! I don’t like them _that_ much!” But from the look on his father’s face, Robin had a sinking feeling this would be an uphill battle.  
  
***  
  
When he emerged from the guest room, Robin could hear the din of three hundred guests slowly trickling into the great hall below. The pleasant smell of food that had slowly permeated the castle all afternoon was now impossible to ignore, but finally, _finally_ , there was no need to. Only a flight of stairs and the length of the great hall stood between Robin and the source of the maddeningly mouth-watering smell.  
  
He hovered impatiently as Malcolm warmly re-greeted Ghislaine, complimented her dress, and offered her his arm. Isabella watched them with an odd look, then followed after them. Robin was about to bolt down the stairs after them, but Guy held him back.  
  
“Wait. Don’t go down yet.”  
  
Robin tried not to show his impatience. “What is it?”  
  
“Here,” Guy thrust something at him. “This is my Christmas present for you.”  
  
“What- But- When did you-”  
  
Guy shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I snuck out into the town just now. Here, take it. And be careful with it.” It was a white votive candle. One of the expensive beeswax ones. Robin cradled it carefully. “I thought you might want to light it. You know. In memory of your mother.”  
  
Robin fought to swallow the lump in his throat. _Thank you_ , he wanted to say. _And I’ll pray for your father too, for his safe return_. It was what he wanted to say, should have said. Instead, he found himself grinning mischievously, “Thanks. _My_ Christmas gift to _you_ is a free archery lesson before we hold our contest. To even the odds a bit.”  
  
As he pelted down the stairs to escape a stream of French expletives, something told him Guy’s indignation was entirely for show. This time.  
  
He was still grinning, and Guy was still pretend-fuming, when they took their places for the feast.  


* * *

  
  
Twelve years later, Marian of Knighton sat down in front of a mirror, spotted her belated Christmas gift from Guy of Gisborne, and _screamed_.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m - pretty sure this isn’t what you had in mind, original prompter. I’m sorry and hope you enjoyed anyway.
> 
> Translations of the French used in the story:  
> “De quoi vous parlez?” - "What are you talking about?"  
> “Si tu t’appliquais plus à tes leçons d’anglais, tu le saurais.” - "If you put more work into your English lessons, you'd know."  
> “Maman, Guy est méchant avec moi!” - "Mom, Guy is being mean to me!"  
> “Qu’est-ce qu’il a dit?” - "What did he say?"  
> “Maman!” - "Mom!"  
> “Heureux sont les simples d’esprit” - "Blessed are the simple-minded", a misquote of the Beatitudes described in Matthew 5:3-12 (it's supposed to be 'les pauvres en esprit/the poor in spirit')  
> to have 'le béguin' for someone is to have a crush on them


End file.
